


This Quiet and Still Morning

by Literary



Series: You Cannot Make Remembrance Grow [4]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 04:29:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10153682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literary/pseuds/Literary
Summary: The narrow motel bed wasn’t big enough for two people, but they made it work. (Two busy law enforcement idiots in love.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this artwork](https://fallershipping.tumblr.com/post/154409953465/still-morning). 99% feels 1% smut that's not actually smut, and yet this is still #vergosfault. But seriously, a kind thank-you to Vergo for her art. It always manages to make a mediocre day much brighter.
> 
>  
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>  Stay tuned next time for 2% smut 98% feelsfic!  
> 

The narrow motel bed wasn’t big enough for two people but they made it work. If the only discreet way to sleep together was to do so on the road, then so be it. At least…that was Looker’s opinion. Beggars couldn’t be choosers—or ought not to be, anyway. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted to bend Anabel over her desk at work—or how badly  _she_  wanted him to do it. It wasn’t safe. And even though the idea of burying himself in her behind the locked door of her office brought with it a certain thrill…it just wasn’t a good idea. Or smart.

Actually, it was very stupid.

Besides, he thought, he quite liked  _this_  sort of closeness: a two-for-one twin-bed special. Or something like that. Dawn was barely lighting the horizon and he was wide awake and nearly euphoric just to have her there—her head on the same pillow, her hair a tousled mess between them, the gentle, barely noticeable rise and fall of her shoulder as she breathed.

There was something thrilling about this, too, that office shenanigans, hot as they seemed, couldn’t begin to match. It wasn’t the same kind of thrill, of course. It was different than the hard clenching of her muscles around him and the soft/rough way she said his name when she was on the edge.

This was warmer, sweeter, long-term. It was a feeling, something he didn’t have words for but felt on the verge of wakefulness when he knew that she would be there. A gladness to open his eyes, maybe.

Light spilled across the bed slowly through the lopsided, ruined blinds on the far side of the room. The morning was quiet and he felt at peace. Maybe the sexual satisfaction from the evening before had stayed through the night. They’d tried fucking up against the wall, the one facing the back of the building, but he hadn’t been able to hold her up for the full duration and nearly dropped her on the way to the bed to finish what they’d started. They ended up on the floor and she’d come with surprisingly little coaxing from his fingers, shuddering beneath him still half-laughing at their predicament. He would probably nearly drop her another time if it meant he could watch her come like that again, looking blissfully dazed and grinning as she arched her back.

But no, it was more than satisfied carryover from the night before. It was the idea of permanence, or at least the hope of it.

Looker ducked his head and swept some of the hair off of the back of her neck with his nose, pressing tiny kisses against her skin. He wasn’t expectant by any means, but he liked the way her skin felt against his lips, and the way her hair occupied space between them, tickling against his chest, and the way she sometimes sighed and leaned back into him.

She didn’t do anything quite so sweet; she pulled away and stretched, her elbow catching him in the side of the head.

She was awake instantly, turning in his arms, hair sticking up on one side and flat on the other. She’d give him what-for with an expression as flat as the pillowed side of her hair if he pointed it out, but he found everything about the way she looked more than a little endearing.

Even her pointy elbow, truth be told.

“You all right?” she asked, voice sleep-slurred and her fingers clumsy as they brushed his temple.

He took her hand loosely in his, pressing a kiss to the side of whatever finger was closest. “Perfectly.”

If only they had this every morning, he thought, the idea too lovely to dare to hope for.

“Mm… Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, Chief.”

“…I’m naked in your arms and you choose to call me  _that_?”

Her voice sounded incredulous, but he couldn’t help but smile and wonder if she was doing it on purpose. She looked innocent enough, though, eyes only half open.

He pressed a feather-light kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Mm, certainly. I think it’s sexy. Like you,” he grinned, stroking her fingers with his thumb, “stretching early in the morning and nearly giving me a concussion.”

She groaned, burying her head against his chest so that he could not see her face.

“What, Chief?” He slid his hand up her arm to her neck, fingers pressing into her skin as he rubbed his thumb down the slope of her shoulder—and again, harder the second time, feeling the bit of tension there and seeking to ease it if only a little. “You know my preference for women who can kick my ass. Especially if they can do it on accident…”

She was silent for a while as he touched her, her breath warm against his skin—and then she was the one doing the kissing, tiny, lazy little things up the center of his chest until she reached his neck, stretching hers up so that she could kiss him under the chin.

He smiled at the pleasant contact, hand sliding down her back to wander over each little ridge of her spine. Perhaps it was silly to be fascinated with it. Well, with all of her, really, each little detail that made her _her_.

“You look happy.”

His eyes fluttered open, though he didn’t really remember closing them. Anabel was watching him, propped up on her elbows now, looking quite awake and beautiful and definitely in love. With him. The thought was a little overwhelming every time he had it. He brushed his thumb over the inward curve of her lower back and appreciated the view he had of her—affection in her eyes as she looked down at him, hair curling at the ends and spilling over one shoulder.

He lifted his hand from her back to touch her hair, to feel it slip through his fingers. Gods, he could spend the rest of his life like this.

With her hair in place again, he reached for her face, the backs of his fingers barely skimming her cheek.

He didn’t really know what to say because there were so many things he _could_ say. That he loved her; that he’d die for her; that she meant so much to him that he could hardly stand not telling her so every waking hour; how his feelings had come so far from where they had started…

But in the end he settled for a hum in the affirmative and a gentle, “I have every reason to be.”

She blushed. She was always doing that—blushing at the oddest things. He delighted in causing it, in making her feel special and wanted, in telling her in as many ways as possible that she was loved.

And then she kissed him, leaning forward and down to drop a soft little kiss at the corner of his mouth: a game he knew well. He turned his head slightly to meet her and he could feel her smile against his mouth which only made him smile, too, until the kiss was wonderfully ruined.

He loved it when that happened, when they had to take a moment because they couldn’t stop smiling—because things were just so good for both of them in ways and for reasons nobody else could help to understand that they couldn’t help themselves.

She pulled away, eyes dancing as the light from the blinds hit the wall and arced over the middle of the bed. “I’m happy, too,” she said, and the sincerity in her words made his heart feel light. It was the highest compliment she could give him, whether she knew it or not.

“I-I am glad of that,” he managed, a little flustered, and lifted his hand to tuck some loose hair behind her ear. “Did you want to get up?”

“Mm…I think not.” Her smile turned mischievous as she scooted closer and then draped herself lazily over him, her legs half on his, her chin resting on his chest.

His arms automatically went around her, keeping her from falling off, fingers of his left hand coming to rest in her hair.

“I like it here,” she told him.

“Oh? I think it could be better.” He did so like to tease her when given half a chance. “It might just be me, though, hm?”

There was a long pause and Anabel looked as if she were considering something. Then she lifted herself up just the smallest bit and slowly inched forward, dragging the rest of her body up the length of his. He ought to have expected it, and yet, when she finally pressed her lips to his, he groaned against her mouth, the feel of her hips pressing into his more than a little wonderful.

“Better?” she asked when she pulled away, satisfaction written all over her face; it looked good on her.

He swept her hair back off of her shoulder, fingers tangling in it as his other hand rested against the small of her back. There were a million ways this could go, he knew. She might stay on top, might relish the position and the fact that she knew she looked incredibly sexy lowering herself onto him, sighing with satisfaction and setting the pace for the rest of the morning. Or maybe he would let her stay there a while and then flip them both over to take charge, lifting her leg over his shoulder to get that much closer, pushing into her slow and deep while he kissed her hard. They might choose to do anything at all, really: gentle and slow or rough, playful or perhaps not even anything at all beyond a little quiet touching, kissing, nuzzling.

In the moment he could hardly bother to care where it led. Things were nice the way they were, her body on his, her hair tickling his arm.

“Mm, certainly. This is better, yes.”

Anabel leaned forward, elbow pressing into his arm as she brought a hand to his face; her fingers slid into the short hair at the back of his neck and her thumb stroked the edge of his ear.

Her other hand crept up to his shoulder, fingertips tracing lazy patterns there.

When she kissed him, it wasn’t anything hurried. It was soft and assured and so gentle that it made his heart clench with something indescribably emotional.

He could have hurried things along in one way or another; she was sometimes amendable to jumping right into it. But he couldn’t bring himself to want that—not even with his growing erection pressing insistently against her.

Besides, they had more than an hour before they had to be up and dressed. That was plenty of time.

He kept his fingers loose in her hair, his other hand at her back, and let himself just enjoy it: the rising sun, the feel of her cheek against his nose as she kissed him, the way his heart fluttered pleasantly: this quiet and still morning that managed to exist, somehow—a soft and unhurried moment in the lives of two busy, overworked people.


End file.
